Land Ho!
by Jetainia
Summary: Various oneshots written for the MC4A Shipping War. Marked complete as every chapter is a separate story.
1. Pondering to Oblivion

**Forum Block  
**Stacked With: MC4A (Shipping War; Summer Bingo; StL; BAON; AV; ER; SF; LiCK; FR)  
Individual Challenges: In a Flash; Lovely Triangle; Metahuman MC; SHIELD MC; Hydra MC; Flags & Ribbons (Y); Misunderstood (Y); Marvelous Cinema; Letter of the Day (Y); Old Shoes; Themes & Things A (Y); Themes & Things C (Y); Chilled Iron Bribery (Y)  
Representations: Tony Stark/Loki/Bucky Barnes  
Bonus Challenges: Creature Feature; Second Verse (Machismo); Chorus (Car in a Tutu; Three's Company; Nontraditional)  
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: FR (Satisfaction)  
Bingo Prompt: 3E (Blue)  
Word count: 340

* * *

The room was dark, hidden from the outside by thick curtains and tinted windows. Only the tiniest sliver provided light to see by, but it was enough to provide vague silhouettes. Three people lay spread out on the large bed as outside the world woke up. There was no waking up in the darkened room—two of the occupants had only recently fallen asleep.

Loki held up his hand in front of him and stared up at it in the dim light. Tony was next to him and Bucky lay on Tony's other side. His skin went from pale white to deep blue as he pondered idly on nothing in particular. His life had become very strange in recent times—wonderful, but strange. Odin had banished him from Asgard, thinking that the same method he had used with Thor would work on his adopted son.

Loki let out a snort as he thought about that. As if Odin paid enough attention to him to know how to properly punish him. This punishment was less of a punishment and more of a gift. On Midgard, he was not surrounded by the Manliest of Men who preferred to bash heads together than talk civilly. Here, he had people who valued intelligence around him.

He moved his gaze from his shifting hand to the two people next to him. He also had people who liked him for who he was—who _loved _him despite what he had done. Loki sighed and let his arm drop, picking up the soft bear that Tony had created for him. The bear was able to withstand the cold temperatures of a frost giant without losing any of its cuddling properties or freezing into a block of ice.

He smiled as he held the teddy bear close to his chest and closed his eyes. He was tired and it was probably time for him to try and follow the examples of Tony and Bucky. Loki closed his eyes and let his mind drift in the darkness towards oblivion.


	2. Steal and Destroy

**Forum Block  
**Stacked With: MC4A (Shipping War; SI(N); FR)  
Individual Challenges: In a Flash; Click Bait It; Bow Before the Blacks; Thief MC; Flags & Ribbons (Y); Letter of the Day (Y); Old Shoes (Y); Colonial Times (Y); Technicolour Moon Assistance Fund (Y);  
Representations: Disguises; Agender Tonks  
Bonus Challenges: Lovely Coconuts  
Word count: 587

* * *

The house was silent and unoccupied—the perfect mix for a thief. A dark figure climbed the wall surrounding the house and slipped closer to the building. Unseen, the figure then crawled through a window that had previously been closed and locked. After that, there was no outward sign that anything untoward was happening in the shut-up house of a local wealthy merchant.

Tonks grinned to themself as they crept through the quiet house. They had been watching this house for several weeks, waiting for the opportunity to sneak inside and take a closer look at the fancy jewellery Mrs. Hutton bedecked herself with when out and about. The pieces that had taken true craftmanship, Tonks would leave alone, but the rest would be losing nothing from being pounded out of their current shape and reworked into something else.

The skeleton staff had left several hours ago and there would be no one else arriving until after dawn. Tonks made their way carefully down the hall and towards the master bedroom—there was no point in being reckless. Even if it was almost assured that no one would catch them, there was always the chance of Lady Luck turning away.

Mrs. Hutton's trinkets were hidden away in a wall safe that was easy to get into if you had the skills and the time—Tonks had both. It took a matter of moments to find the safe and then more than a few minutes to break into it. With nary a sound, the safe swung open and revealed the small boxes that held the majority of Mrs. Hutton's collection. Her best pieces, of course, would have gone with her on the trip to the countryside but that was fine by Tonks. There was plenty here that wouldn't be missed too badly.

They quickly sorted through the pieces by the light of the moon shining through the window. Those that bore a family symbol or were too beautiful to be destroyed stayed behind, everything else was wrapped up in muffling cloth and stowed away in the various pockets of Tonks' suit. When they were sure they had everything they wanted, Tonks quickly reorganised the safe so that the empty boxes were to the back and shut the safe before slipping back out of the silent house.

Once out, it was only a matter of climbing over the wall again and retrieving their street clothes from their hiding place. When Tonks walked out of the alley and onto the street, they looked like a respectable gentleman making his way home after a night out at the pub and the few patrols they encountered didn't look twice at the thief.

Lupin looked up from the dagger he was cleaning when Tonks arrived home. "Good night?" he asked, and Tonks nodded, pulling out the results of their heist to add to the collection of weapons that was currently spread all over the table.

"Won't need to pull another job for a while with what we'll get from this one. Anyone ask you to go on the prowl?"

"Not tonight." He grinned and put down the now clean dagger before gesturing to the jewellery that needed to be made unrecognisable before they could be fenced. "Shall we?"

"We shall." Tonks turned to the fire and put a full pan of water over it to boil before settling down at the table and beginning the task of destroying Mrs. Hutton's jewellery—one couldn't embark on such a job without the aid of tea.


	3. Safekeeping

**Forum Block  
**Stacked With: MC4A (Shipping War; SI(N); StL; BAON; ER; SF; Star; FR); Hogwarts  
Individual Challenges: In a Flash; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Flags & Ribbons; Bloomin' Time; Marvelous Cinema; Old Shoes; Pre-Columbian Times (Y); Shipmas; Two Cakes! (Y); Themes & Things A (Y); Themes & Things B (Y); Themes & Things C (Y); Location, Location, Location; Chilled Iron Bribery (Y)  
Representations: Loki/Bucky Barnes; Artist Loki  
Bonus Challenges: Lovely Coconuts; Chorus (Machismo)  
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: Satisfaction  
Word count: 954

* * *

"You will do this," Odin hissed into his ear as Loki tried to break away.

"Will I?" Loki argued back, already knowing he would have a bruise from his father's grip. "And what will you do if I _don't_?"

"You'll never leave these walls again. I know you sneak out to be among the common people, I know you think you're better than us, I know that you believe you know best, but_ you don't_. You will do as I say."

Odin let go as Loki wrenched his arm away. "You know _nothing_."

He stormed away from his father, angry beyond belief at the latest measure the man had decided to take in order to control Loki. The old man never cared about Loki; it was always about Thor, Loki's older and perfect brother—the brother that was allowed to marry for love and not political gain, no matter that it was generally the younger siblings that were granted that freedom.

Loki would not accept being sent off to live quietly as the Lady Freya's husband just because his own family didn't like him and prefer he stay in the shadows—so long as those shadows weren't too deep and able to swallow up their family's pristine reputation. Loki growled to himself as he thought of the demands placed on him and the lack of demands placed on Thor. He loved his brother, but the man was spoiled and arrogant and their parents didn't see anything wrong with that while they saw everything wrong with Loki.

He took a sharp turn to the left into a corridor before slipping into the secret passage that opened there. The palace was riddled with passages and many of them had been forgotten by everyone except the boy who had spent his childhood exploring the place he grew up in when his parents and brother were too busy for him.

There was one place that he could vent and be provided comfort, and it was not within the palace walls.

* * *

The house was empty when he arrived, but he expected that. Bucky would be working out in the fields with the rest of the harvesters. Loki let out a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him—this small house was more home to him than the large palace he had grown up in. The sturdy, ungilded but intricately carved wooden furniture was more comfortable than the plush furniture that filled the palace.

He collapsed on one of the rocking chairs in front of the dark fireplace and curled his legs up. There was another rocking chair next to him, a small table sat behind him with two chairs tucked under and a pitcher of water covered by a thin piece of muslin cloth. One of the walls was covered in various flowers that Loki himself had painted and added to when he couldn't sleep.

He smiled at the wall while he rocked in the chair. Bucky had caught him drawing on the table in charcoal and, far from being upset, had offered his wall for Loki's use. He had said Loki's art brought more life into his home; it was a far cry from his family's reaction to Loki being talented at drawing and painting.

The small paint tins sitting against the wall invited him to pick them up and start painting—an invitation he quickly accepted. He crossed the short distance and folded down onto the floor, brushing his fingers over the dried paint that was already on the wall before picking up one of the brushes laying nearby.

Bucky found him sitting in front of the wall several hours later staring at the tulips that now adorned it. He gave Loki a kiss on the top of his head before he went to light the oil lamp hanging at the entrance. He returned a few seconds later, sitting down next to Loki and pulling him into a sideways hug.

"You need anything?" he asked quietly.

Loki smiled; that was Bucky—offering but never demanding. He curled into Bucky's side, "I'm good."

"Okay." He was silent for a bit before saying, "I am kind of hungry though, if you think you're good to follow me around."

"Yeah," Loki said after some assessment. "I can do that."

They stood up, Loki holding one of Bucky's wrists lightly as they moved to the small pantry and Bucky started pulling out the stuff for sandwiches. They moved in silence, used to each other's patterns and not needing to talk.

It was after dinner and when they were sitting in the rocking chairs in front of the crackling fire that Loki spoke up. "Odin has arranged a marriage between me and the Lady Freya from Vanaheim."

"And Thor?" Bucky asked.

Loki snorted derisively. "Thor is free to do whatever he wants with no consequences as per usual. He does not require being shipped out to another kingdom in a diplomatic marriage."

"There's room here for two people, we've proven that over the years."

"Are you…" Loki trailed off. The offer was far more than Loki staying a night or a few days when the atmosphere of the palace became too much. This was Bucky saying that Loki could fully leave his toxic family and have somewhere safe to go if he did.

Bucky smiled at him, squeezing the hand that Loki still had circled around his wrist. "My place is always open to you, has been since you threw an apple at me."

"You are far too good to me, Bucky."

"Wrong. This is your home as soon as you decide it is." Bucky stood up and pulled gently on Loki's arm. "Now come on, time for bed."


	4. To Make a Promise

**Forum Block  
**Stacked With: MC4A (Shipping War; SI(N); StL; BAON; FPC; FR)  
Individual Challenges: In a Flash; The 3rd Rule; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Gryffindor MC (x2); Seeds; Summer Vacation; Rian-Russo Inversion [x2](Y); Flags & Ribbons [x2] (Y); Old Shoes (Y); Times to Come (Y); Shipmas (Y); Themes & Things A (Y); 3rd Rule Bribery (HP Edition) (Y)  
Representations: Katie Bell/Alicia Spinnet  
Bonus Challenges: Lovely Coconuts; Second Verse (Clio's Conclusion; Nontraditional; Ladylike; Not a Lamp; White Dress)  
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: Satisfaction  
Word count: 303

* * *

Katie looked at the clock for the tenth time in as many seconds. Alicia wasn't technically late yet, but she was definitely cutting it close; five minutes until they needed to leave and no sign of her girlfriend yet. Hopefully—if Alicia arrived in time and she said yes when Katie asked her—Katie would be able to call Alicia her fiancée as well as her girlfriend.

The front door opened and Alicia rushed in, pecking Katie on the cheek as she passed by. "Sorry I'm late," she called over her shoulder. "There was a lead on a case that I needed to follow up."

Katie grinned. "Not technically late, Al. You promised you'd be here, I believed you."

"I know you, Katie, you were looking at the clock and fretting." Alicia popped her head out of the bedroom, threading her arms through the sleeves of her shirt.

"Guilty as charged," Katie admitted. "But I didn't doubt you'd be here before we had to leave. You keep your promises, no matter what."

Alicia stepped out of the bedroom, ready for their date in an old, worn, and soft t-shirt and faded jeans. She matched Katie in her Weird Sisters band shirt and cargo pants perfectly, as she always did. Katie grinned and held out her hand which Alicia took gladly.

"Come on, the sun's about to set."

"Lead on."

Katie kissed Alicia and then led the way out the door to the small grassy knoll that was already set out for a picnic. There was a blanket with cushions sitting on it, warm blankets sat to the side for when the sun set and took the warmth with it. Inside the picnic basket was an almost exact replica of their first picnic—a ring hidden in a small box being the only difference.


	5. Jolly Holiday

**Forum Block  
**Stacked With: MC4A (Shipping War)  
Individual Challenges: In a Flash; Stolen Plot; Rian-Russo Inversion; Letter of the Day (Y); Old Shoes; Colonial Times; Gender Bender; Shipmas; Themes & Things A; Themes & Things B; Feeling So Logical [Happily/Happy]  
Word count: 381

* * *

Phillipa Coulson stepped out of the Banks' home and smiled when she saw the waiting figure on the street. It had been too long since she had seen Clint, and while the outing earlier that day had been pleasant, Phil had still been working and looking after Jane and Michael. Now, the two children were asleep and she had a few hours to herself.

Clint held out a slightly sooty arm as she approached and she accepted it happily, umbrella in her other hand. They set off walking to no particular destination in silence. Phil went everywhere for her job while Clint stayed in London and looked after the chimneys of the people (and occasionally sending out a signal to Phil if he saw a family he thought she or one of her colleagues could help).

They ended up in one of the many parks in London and stopped in a bandstand. Phil smiled as Clint started humming one of his merry tunes, swaying them to the sound of it as the city slept around them. Theirs was a quiet love, one of simple pleasures and silent gestures. It shouted loudly to those listening in every gesture between them, in the smiles they shared, and the time they always took to spend with each other when they were in each other's vicinity.

The peace was welcome after corralling young children or sweeping out chimneys all day. A break away from their jobs where they could merely be them. No need to perform magic to entertain energetic kids, no need to worry about where soot might go or the secrets hidden behind closed doors left open for those beneath the keepers.

Phil spun out of Clint's arms and back into them, leading them into a more purposeful dance as Clint grinned and continued humming. There was no magical band around this time, it was just the two of them. Tomorrow, they'd be back to work—Phil with the Jane and Michael Banks, Clint trailing along to help Phil and spend time with her while occasionally popping off to sweep a chimney or direct his crew.

Tonight, they whirled around the bandstand under the light of the stars. A short jolly holiday shared between the two of them away from their respective duties.


	6. Just Be

**Forum Block  
**Stacked With: MC4A (Shipping War; Summer Bingo; SI(N); StL; BAON; FPC; ER; SF; Star; FR; LiCK); Hogwarts  
Individual Challenges: Short Jog; Lovely Triangle; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux (Y); Stolen Plot; Rian-Russo Inversion (Y); Real Family; Flags & Ribbons [x3] (Y x1); Rainbow Focus (Y); Old Shoes; Interesting Times (Y); Gender Bender (Y); Shipmas (Y); Themes & Things A (Y); Themes & Things B (Y); Themes & Things C (Y); Location, Location, Location  
Representations: Phil Coulson & Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov; Genderfluid Clint  
Bonus Challenges: For the Vine; Second Verse (Car in a Tutu; Lock & Key; Three's Company; Found Family; Nontraditional; Zucchini Bread; Ladylike; Not a Lamp; Persistence Still; White Dress); Chorus (Bandstand; Larger than Life; Unicorn; Machismo; Odd Feathers)  
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: FR (Satisfaction; Liberation); LiCK (Poppy)  
Bingo Prompt: 5C (Red)  
Word count: 2,687

* * *

Phil ran his hands over the bits and pieces that would eventually become a shoe. Almost his entire life he had wanted to leave behind the family business and pursue his own life. He had even succeeded—had moved to London with his childhood sweetheart with a new job in marketing. He had been recalled to the small town he had just escaped that stunk of cattle farms and tanning leather by the death of his father and the family company needing to be dealt with.

Above his head hung portraits of his ancestors. The Coulsons that had built and controlled Coulson and Sons; the Coulsons that expected him to follow in their footsteps. He had been seven when he first asked his father what would happen if he didn't want to make shoes. His father had laughed at him and said that he was a right funny kid if he didn't.

His gaze fell to the factory floor and the shipment of shoes that had been sent back. That shipment had supposed to pay the workers' wages and now he couldn't do that. Phil groaned and slumped back into the chair, staring up at the ceiling as he idly spun the chair around with his feet. He straightened as a thought occurred to him. Within moments, he had clattered down the stairs, grabbed a box from the returned shipment, and raced out the door.

* * *

"Will you help me out, Nick?" Phil asked, holding back the desperation he felt as well as he could.

Nick sighed, glancing at the plain but well-made shoes in the open box on the bar in front of them. He gulped down the rest of his beer before saying, "Fine. I'll help you but unless you find a niche market soon, you'll be beyond helping."

With that, he returned to the arcade machines that were his escape from small town life—he held the highest score on every machine. Phil downed his own beer and then left the bar feeling much calmer than he had when he had entered.

The calmness lasted until he heard the sound of a dog whimpering and loud drunken jeers. Without thinking, he rushed into the dark alley and slugged the first laughing face he saw. There was another person fighting the drunken idiots but Phil didn't pay much attention to them, instead focusing on getting rid of the drunks so he could help the dog. That turned out to be a mistake when a few moments later he felt something hit his head and became closer acquaintances with the ground.

He jerked awake when a wet tongue licked his cheek and a nose shoved itself at his ear. He was in a room covered in purple—purple walls, a purple dressing screen, purple clothes, purple curtains. A dog lay next to him, thumping their tail and seemingly content now that Phil was awake. Phil ran a hand carefully down the dog's back, wary of any injuries that might have been given by the drunks.

The dog closed its eyes contentedly and accepted the pats as Phil continued staring around the room he found himself in. Aside from all the purple, it appeared to be a dressing room of some kind. There was a shelf dedicated to various wigs, each wig on a different purple wig stand (none of the wigs themselves were purple). There was a large mirror surrounded by lights with various cosmetics placed neatly on the desk in front of it.

Phil himself was lying on a purple lounge that took up one wall of the room with the wig shelves on the other side of the room, the mirror to his left, and a door to his right with racks of clothes and a changing screen on one side. Instead of being blinded by all the purple, Phil actually found himself appreciating it—though he was sure that if it was all one shade instead of the myriad of shades it was, he would think differently.

The door opened and a woman walked in—or no, it was a man in woman's clothes. The man smiled when he saw Phil awake and patting the dog. "Glad to see you survived my shoe even if my shoe didn't survive you," he said.

Phil blinked and then saw the high-heeled boot with the broken heel that had been tossed into a corner of the room. It was purple like almost everything else in the room and had streaks of silver and red running vertical along it. Its partner was sitting next to it, heel intact.

"I'm sorry about your boot," he said for lack of having anything else to say.

The man waved a hand dismissively. "They never last long. I had hoped I'd be able to wear that pair for longer, but you come to expect the untimely death of your favourite shoes when you dance in them all the time."

Phil scooped up the broken boot, barely registering the man grabbing a set of clothes from the rack and moving behind the changing screen. The heel had clearly snapped from duress, it had been forced to carry more than the creators had expected—no doubt because a male was wearing it instead of the slim, light-weight women the company had no doubt marketed it towards.

He hummed in thought as he turned the boot around in his hands. A niche market, Nick had said. Phil needed to find a niche market to keep Coulson and Sons alive and running. Could this be the niche market he was looking for?

"I could make you a new pair of boots," he found himself offering.

The man stepped out from behind the screen, adjusting the sleeves of the red sparkly dress he now wore as he walked over to the wig shelves. "Experienced with making shoes, are we?" he asked as he pulled on a brown bob wig.

Phil shrugged. "It's in the family."

"Well then, how could I refuse such an offer? But they had better be purple." He pointed a lipstick at Phil threateningly before touching up his makeup with it and moving towards the door. "I need to get back out there but feel free to stay and watch the show and we can discuss these new shoes after."

Then he was gone just as quickly as he had arrived. Phil fiddled with the shoe for a bit longer, transferring his attention to the dog when a nose pushed into his hand. His mind was whirring with ideas about what he could do with the shoe, and the future that was starting to hesitantly light up. Deciding he should probably know the situations the new shoe would be going through, Phil stood up and went out the door, finding himself in the backstage area of a club.

On the stage he could see through the side stage curtains, the man he met was in complete charge of the stage and audience—introducing himself as Lola with his song while the ensemble accompanied him. A niche market indeed, Phil thought. Going by the broken boot he still held in his hand, he doubted anyone was making feminine boots for men—or planning to.

* * *

The day Lola appeared at the Coulson and Sons factory was an interesting one to say the least. Jasper had—once he been embarrassed for flirting with a male he had thought to be female—accused Lola of doing what she did to gain attention from men. To which Lola had smirked and explained that having a gentle touch and being a reflection of them was generally more of a draw to women than oppressing them with masculinity. Plus, she had added after Jasper had started to slink towards the shadows to think, drawing the attention of men and women was merely a plus in Lola's book—just because she loved women and dressing like one didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the attention of both sexes.

Followed by that was the utter disgust Lola had shown to the mock-up shoes they had created. The boots were sturdy and durable but the most important part—according to Lola—was missing; there was no stiletto heel. It had been back to the drawing board with Lola designing multiple amazing (stiletto) boots and not budging on the need for the heel.

The next day Lola had arrived at the factory in a suit and Phil found himself thrown for a loop. The man looked so uncomfortable in the suit that Phil wondered why he had decided to wear it. The bullying from Jasper and a few other workers answered that question but came at the cost of Lola retreating to the safety of the bathrooms.

Phil leaned against the wall next to the stall Lola was currently occupying. "You know, you shouldn't listen to Jasper. He's just being an outspoken bigot."

There was a choked laugh from the stall. "Him and almost everyone else in the world. I had hoped that it would get better once I didn't have to pretend for my father anymore, but it's the same everywhere. He expected me to be a boxer, you know. Win the championships he couldn't. Follow in his footsteps."

"I know what that's like." Phil gazed around him. He had grown up in this building and couldn't wait to leave it and the expectations his father heaped upon his shoulders. "But hey, we're both following out own paths now, yeah? My father would probably be turning in his grave if he knew I was making stiletto heeled boots. I'm not my father, and you're not yours."

There was a slight click as Lola unlocked the stall door. She stepped out, still awkward in the suit and with fresh tear tracks on her face, but she was smiling slightly. He held out a hand to Phil. "Well then, Phillip Coulson, not his father's son, meet Clint Barton, also not his father's son."

Phil grinned and shook Clint's hand. "Let's make some boots."

* * *

It was only after Audrey had arrived at the factory with a deed for sale his father had prepared that Phil realised he hadn't even thought about her and their planned new start in London since he had started working with Lola. It was only when the factory was going to slip out of his hands that he realised how desperately he wanted to keep it and make it his own.

Somewhere along the way, his and Audrey's dreams had drifted away from each other and no longer aligned. Phil found he didn't mind the smell of cattle farms and tanning leather. He had a family in this town, people that relied on him and loved him. Audrey tried to drag him away from it, reminding him of their plans, but he didn't want that anymore.

He looked at Audrey and saw an escape from his father's expectations. He looked at the Coulson and Sons sign hanging above their heads and saw love and family, laughter and new, outrageous, designs for shoes. Phil smiled sadly at Audrey and shook his head. There was no point in trying to fix what wasn't broken; they had drifted apart, and so had their desires.

Nat saved him—as she always had, he now realised. She had always been there for him and he for her until he had distanced himself so far from his father that he had removed the factory and the rest of his family from his life in an attempt to be with Audrey and start his own path. He couldn't help but smile at her glare at Audrey as she pulled him into the factory to see the finished product of their first trial.

Nat saved him again only a few days later when he was about to hire female models for the Milan fashion show they would be presenting their stiletto boots to the world at. Lola was tapping her purple boot encased foot as she arched her eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. Nat was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to put the phone down and realise that showing a boot for men on women was a stupid idea.

It was Nat who warned Phil of the boxing match between Jasper and Lola—a wager that Jasper no doubt thought would be easy for him to win, and one that Phil knew he had no chance at due to Clint's father forcing him to box professionally.

It was also Nat who filled the Nat-shaped gap in his life that had formed when he left the factory. He had barely noticed it was there when he was trying to cram Audrey into her space and Nat's. Now, with Audrey in London and pursuing her marketing career, Phil realised that he had been lying to himself when he said he wanted to leave everything behind and start anew in London.

* * *

Everything was ready. Lola's Angels were making last minute adjustment to their outfits and makeup. Lola herself was standing at the window and looking at the night sky. Phil stepped up next to her, Nat joining them on Lola's other side.

"You good?" Phil asked.

Lola looked at him and gave a brittle smile. "I went to see my father."

And that was all it took to understand. Nat must have understood as well, because she moved at almost the same time he did. Both of them leaned into Clint and looped their arms around him. The bustle behind them of the show preparing faded for a few moments. Now was comfort, and then Lola would become herself again and step out onto the walkway with confidence.

Jasper cleared his throat from behind them and they turned. He grinned and handed Clint his shoes. The man had undergone a transformation after the boxing match and now stood in front of them in his own stiletto boots of blue and bronze, utterly comfortable in his surroundings. Clint grinned back and accepted the purple, red, and silver streaked boots and went to finish getting ready.

Phil expected Jasper to leave then, to get ready for the part he had insisted on having in the show, but he didn't. Instead his grin turned into a smirk and he held out another pair of boots. It took Phil a moment to realise that Jasper was holding the boots out to _him_ and not Nat. He stared at the boots in mild terror, flicking his gaze to the stage that he had never desired to be upon. He was a man in the shadows type of person; he didn't enjoy the spotlight.

Nat nudged him and rose an eyebrow when he looked at her. He sighed; clearly he wasn't going to be getting out of this easily. She nodded approvingly when he took the boots from Jasper and slipped off to where he realised she had her own pair of boots. Apparently, his family had decided to make the Milan Fashion Show a family show by having everyone show off their new boots.

He smiled at that. After he was booted up, he merely sat and watched them. There were the workers who had been like surrogate parents to him while he grew up; the ones who had been excited children with him or slightly weary teenagers. There was Nat, his best friend and someone he now knew he couldn't live without for very long. And then there was Clint—becoming Lola again and chatting with the Angels.

They were his family. They had all been close to losing their jobs and their second home and it was by working together that they had managed to come this far. It was only by working together that they would continue to move forward.

Nat slipped up beside him and offered her hand, which he gladly took. "Ready?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

He grinned. "As I'll ever be." He pulled her into a hug, an acknowledgement that they were back to where they had been before Phil had torn himself away to follow Audrey. "Thank you."

"Anytime."


	7. Carry On

**Forum Block  
**Stacked With: MC4A (Shipping War; NC; StL; ToS; BAON; FPC; RoB; ER; HoSE; FR; Summer Bingo); Hogwarts  
Individual Challenges: Short Jog (Y); Advice from the Mug; Yellow Ribbon; Yellow Ribbon Redux; Gryffindor MC (x4); Ethnic & Present; Mastermind MC; Hitter MC; Cuppa; Rian-Russo Inversion (Y); Flags & Ribbons [x2] (Y x1); Tissue Warning; Old Shoes (Y); Times to Come (Y); Time Gaps (Y); Two Cakes! (Y); Themes & Things A (Y); Themes & Things B (Y); Themes & Things C (Y); Trope It Up C (Y); Location, Location, Location; It's the End of the World (Y)  
Representations: Seamus Finnegan/Dean Thomas; Field Agent Seamus; Apocalypse; Soulmates  
Bonus Challenges: Second Verse (Middle Name; Found Family; Nontraditional; Ladylike; Not a Lamp; White Dress); In the Trench; Surprise!  
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: HoSE (Keen)  
Prompt: Agricultural Science Task 4: Write about someone or something destructive (Hogwarts); 1B [Orange] (Bingo)  
Word count: 1,724  
Warnings: Character death

* * *

The world had gone up in flames only a few years after the Battle of Hogwarts and Voldemort's defeat. Everyone had thought they'd be safe, that there would be no more horror for some time because the nightmare that had stalked their lives had finally been vanquished. Then there had been a wave of magic pouring out of the small village of Mould-on-the-Wold and everything had turned into chaos.

Unspeakables had been dispatched to the village to discover the cause. Only two of the sixteen that had been sent returned—of those two, only one had lived through the night. She had reported a nexus of magic located at the old Dumbledore homestead. It held the magical signature and intent of Albus Dumbledore—this was planned magic. The respected Headmaster Dumbledore had created a world-ending spell before he died and now it had activated.

Seamus was out there now, fighting the bubbles floating over the world that constantly threatened to pop and release the deadly toxins held within them. Seamus' talent with setting things alight had made him highly desirable for the task of watching the bubbles and burning the toxins if they were released—thankfully fire was an effective weapon against them.

The small image of him grinned up at Dean from a picture, waving joyfully before being swung around in a hug by the Dean in the picture. The Dean who had left behind the carefree days of Hogwarts long behind sighed heavily and slipped the image into his left pocket. He missed Seamus. Every day was full of worry and praying that Seamus was still alive out there.

Communication had broken down a few months after the magic explosion. The air was too dangerous for owls and the wix out in the field and behind the lines didn't often have the magic left to produce a Patronus or similar communication. Even coins similar to the ones Hermione had created for the DA—and how Dean hated that name now that he had more insight to the type of person Dumbledore had been—required magical energy that was needed somewhere else. Team leaders had them, but there weren't enough to go out to every wix.

Dean looked over the same grounds he had just seen in his picture. Hogwarts was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the only safe place from the toxic air. Dumbledore had planned this well. He would have been able to give shelter to those who needed it and they would have been too grateful to question why he was able to defend against the toxins so effectively when no one else seemed able to. It would have solidified his reputation as a powerful wizard and a saviour.

The grounds had changed dramatically. There were tents everywhere—all of them larger on the inside. Fire pits were dotted around, used for warmth, boiling water, and occasionally cooking. The house elves of Hogwarts popped up randomly—either with food or to provide aid in whatever way they could. Hogwarts wasn't a school anymore.

Dean turned and exited the Headmaster's Office where he had been interrogating Dumbledore's portrait for information—the old man mainly twinkling his painted eyes and looking rather pleased with himself even though he wasn't there to play saviour. It was time to share what little information he'd been able to squeeze out of the portrait with the rest of his team and then have dinner before falling into a restless sleep.

* * *

Dean woke up by falling. There were shouts all around him and the air was shimmering with heat and deadly toxins. Dean stared up at the sky uncomprehending for a few seconds before realising what must have happened. Time had stopped meaning anything ages ago, he hadn't realised the day he would swap bodies with Seamus was so close.

"Seamus! Get back up, we need you!" called a voice Dean recognised as Padma Patil.

He scrambled to his feet and tried to get his bearings. An almost invisible trail of toxins was falling down right above Padma and he quickly shot out a stream of fire at it. Padma gave him a thankful nod as she continued dealing with the large bubble that was hovering right above the town they were in.

Pansy, Blaise, Dennis, and Parvati were spread out through the town, each of them in their own pairs of two and fighting back the toxins. Dean was swept up in the situation, jumping from crisis to crisis and somehow averting them all. He didn't have time to be relieved that Seamus was still alive or that he was safely ensconced at Hogwarts at the moment and hopefully getting some rest. All he could think about was stopping the toxins and staying alive himself while also watching out for Padma.

* * *

Seamus went from aiming at the cloud of toxins falling directly at his partner to rolling off the top bunk of a bunk bed. He landed with a thud and groaned softly. A whispered spell lit up the end of the lower bunk's occupant's wand.

"Dean?" Neville asked.

"Seamus," Seamus corrected. "Soulmate day."

Neville sat up and swung his legs off his bunk. "You okay? Is everyone else okay?"

"Yeah, we're all still alive." Seamus was finding the floor of the tent quite comfortable and was considering just staying there for the night.

"You want some tea?" Neville offered and Seamus considered it. He hadn't had a proper cup of tea in ages. Finally he nodded an affirmative and then started the long process of getting off the extremely comfortable carpeted floor as Neville went into the small attached kitchen and put the kettle on to boil.

The drink was heavenly when Seamus finally dragged himself up off the floor and Neville handed it to him. He didn't have to scull it down, for one; he could take his time and savour the aroma, flavour, and feelings that it brought. After that, he climbed up the small ladder into Dean's bunk and curled up in the blankets.

If the carpet had been comfortable, the bunk was like a cloud. Seamus didn't know if that was a good thing or not. It was strange being on a mattress and knowing he could sleep without fear. But Dean's body was used to the softness and Seamus' exhaustion made it an easy thing to drop off to sleep.

* * *

Seamus stared out across the Black Lake and wondered what was happening with his team and Dean. He'd reported all he could to Penelope, and she had thanked him profusely for the intel. Soulmate days were one of the sure-fire ways information could be passed to different groups and information was one of their most valuable resources.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt a piece of paper in the left one. Curious, he pulled it out and smiled softly when he saw the picture of him and Dean enjoying themselves on these very grounds. He had the same picture tucked in a pouch that hung around his neck. He wondered if Dean was looking at it now.

The orange sky above him made his fingers twitch for his wand. He knew he didn't need it though; the toxins didn't enter the grounds of Hogwarts. Dumbledore hadn't extended that protection to Hogsmeade—probably would have made the excuse that such a large area would have been taxing on even his abilities and magic.

Seamus could see the tell-tale shimmer of bubbles hovering just beyond the wards and he itched to go out there. But that would be idiotic. He didn't have his team with him, he didn't even have his own body and he wasn't going to send Dean out on a suicide mission even if he was in control. He knew that a home base team would soon be dispatched to deal with the bubbles, so he forced himself to take the opportunity to relax a little.

* * *

Seamus woke up to the sounds of someone shuffling around in the near darkness. He almost rolled over and went back to sleep before realising that he was still lying on a mattress that felt like a cloud. His eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly. Neville looked up and smiled at him.

"Hey Dean," he greeted.

Seamus stared at him in horror. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to articulate what was wrong. Neville's smile faded as he watched Seamus. He shrugged on a jumper and stepped up the first rung of the bunk ladder.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Not—Not Dean," Seamus choked out.

Neville's face paled. "Seamus? You're still…"

Seamus nodded, feeling faint. While he had been relaxing and enjoying the rare break in fighting, Dean had died in his place. Dean hadn't been fast enough to avoid an explosion of toxins or had been caught in a collapsing building the toxins had eroded the foundations of, or something else entirely. It didn't matter _how_. Dean was _dead_.

His eyes caught his reflection in the mirror Neville had been using to shave and abandoned when Seamus woke. Dean's face looked back at him, horror-stricken and pale despite Dean's darker skin tone.

Neville finished climbing the ladder and sat next to Seamus, pulling him into his arms. They would have to tell Penelope and the others, but that could wait for now. Seamus curled into Neville and felt sobs wrack his body as he felt the crushing guilt and sorrow overwhelm him. Neville just held him closer, rubbing his back as his own tears ran down his face.

Outside, the sun rose and turned the sky its normal orange colour. The creatures safe inside the wards of Hogwarts woke up and started filling the grounds with noise. The tent occupants stirred and started their days, each wondering when it would be safe to venture out into the world again.

Further outside, beyond the wards, the magic cast by Albus Dumbledore continued on its way, ravaging everything it came across unless stopped by one of the teams chasing it. One such team held a brief vigil over two of their own before lighting the hurriedly constructed funeral pyres—Padma Patil and Dean Thomas would be sorely missed, but they would not die in vain. The flames from their pyres would fight the toxins as they had done while they lived.


	8. My Father's Worse Than Your Father

**Forum Block  
**Stacked With: MC4A (NC; SIN; StL; ToS; BAON; RoB; AV; ER; SF; Star; Shipping War; HoSE; FR; SN; T3; War); Hogwarts  
Fandom: MCU  
Individual Challenges: Short Jog; Click Bait It (Y); Yellow Ribbon (Y); Yellow Ribbon Redux; SHIELD MC; Neurodivergent; Quiet Time; True Colours; Flags & Ribbons [x2]; Misunderstood (Y); Marvelous Cinema; The First Phase; Letter of the Day; Old Shoes; Ways to the Heart; Time Gaps (Y); Shipmas; Two Cakes! (Y); Themes & Things A (Y); Themes & Things B (Y); Chilled Iron Bribery (Y)  
Representations: Tony Stark/Loki; Soulmates; Odin's & Howard's A+ Parenting; Avengers  
Bonus Challenges: Grease Monkey; Lyre Liar; Most Human Bean; Muck & Slime; Rock of Ages; Abandoned Ship; Head of Perseus; In the Trench; Chorus (Creature Feature; Eternal Boredom; Larger than Life; Unicorn; Machismo; Peddling Pots; Wabi Sabi); Second Verse (Lovely Coconuts; Brooms Only; Middle Name; Spinning Plates; Unwanted Advice); Demo (Fruit Fly); Demo (Some Beach)  
Tertiary Bonus Challenges: HoSE (Sanctuary); T3 (Thimble)  
Word count: 1,258

* * *

Tony flew down to hover over the square full of kneeling people and aimed his weapons at the green-clad man with a golden-horned helmet on his head. The beats of AC/DC echoed around the square from his speakers and he couldn't help but bop his head around to the music slightly. Then he found himself pulled forward by an unseen force and slamming into the guy he had been trying to apprehend who had also apparently been pulled towards him.

In a moment, Tony's mind raced through all the things that could possibly have caused this. By the look on the guy's face, he hadn't been expecting this so he wasn't the cause. His suit was functioning fine according to JARVIS, so it wasn't that. No one else had been affected so it was localised. And that was when he realised what had happened and he groaned out loud.

Soulmates. He was bloody soulmates with tall, dark, and murderous. He made his faceplate lift up and flicked one of the horns on his newly-discovered soulmate's head for something to do and said, "So I guess we're stuck together. A lot of people have tried to say they're bonded to me so well done on being bonded to Tony Stark, I suppose."

This close to him, Tony could see the man's eyes flickering between a deep green and an electric blue. He frowned as he watched the colour changes, wondering what could be causing the phenomenon and if it was just something alien eyes did. The eyes finally settled on mostly green with a ring of blue surrounding the green.

"You're bonded to a monster. Congratulations go to you."

"Nothing a bit of hacking and cuddles can't solve. Who are you anyway? I only got the basics."

"Loki, son of—" he cut off before saying again, "Loki. I am Loki."

"Nice to meet you, Loki, think you could lay off the making everyone kneel in front of you shtick and come to the super-secret base you would have gone to had we captured and this whole thing hadn't happened?" He waved a hand at them and then the quinjet hovering nearby.

Loki's lip quirked a tiny bit and Tony counted that as a win because, hey, if the bad guy is amused, it means he's less likely to go on a killing spree despite the presence of a soulmate against that stuck to him.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Fury had scowled when he saw the situation Tony and Loki had found themselves and directed them both into the glass cage that he had on hand—ostensibly for the Hulk. He also tried interrogating Loki but Loki wasn't very inclined to talk and he eventually left (annoyed that his threat to drop the cage out of the helicarrier and down to the earth far below did nothing due to Tony's presence in the cage).

Tony pulled out a bag of blueberries from the dedicated compartment of the Iron Man suit and started snacking. He and Loki were sitting on opposite sides of the cage with their feet stuck together. Loki was staring after Fury and smirking slightly as Tony snacked.

Pretty quickly, Tony got bored and threw a blueberry at the Asgardian. Loki's hand flashed through the air to snatch it and he looked it at it suspiciously. Tony rolled his eyes and said, "It's a gift."

"Uh-huh. Or a curse," Loki responded, still scrutinising the blueberry.

"I don't have magical powers, Horns. Just eat the blueberry."

Loki did so. Tony threw him another one to eat and they continued in that fashion until Tony's bag of blueberries ran out. He had more stuffed away but he figured one bag was enough for now. He should probably get to know more about the person the Fates had decided he suited—and possibly try and get some info about Loki's dastardly plan to take over the Earth while he was at it.

"Family troubles?" he asked, very subtly. He had seen the way Loki interacted with his brother—the other Asgardian, Thor—and it hadn't been even slightly close to what he assumed brotherly love was like.

Loki froze. Quite literally froze, Tony was astonished to see. Ice was forming on the other man's body and Tony found himself wondering if all Asgardians could turn their skin blue and create ice. Though, considering Thor had his lightning and thunder shtick, it was probably an individualised thing. Thor had storms; Loki had ice.

"You could say that," Loki eventually said, a few moments after the ice had melted and his skin lost its blue colour.

"I had a rubbish father," Tony offered when Loki said no more.

Loki snorted. "I doubt he could have been worse than mine."

"You wanna bet?"

"My father barely paid any attention to me," Loki said in way of answer.

Tony shrugged. "Neither did mine, I wasn't as important as work."

"Did yours ever punish you for doing things he thought were feminine?" Loki countered.

"When he was around, sure. I remember a time I had long hair and braided it. When he noticed it, he cut it off right away. I was in the care of the butler most of the time because he didn't have time for me."

"My father assigned no one to be my caretaker. I had to either follow Thor around and make my presence known to be cared for or take care of myself."

"That sucks," Tony admitted. "At least I had Ana and Jarvis, they were like my parents even though they weren't."

"My parents aren't my parents." Loki looked like he hadn't meant to say that. Tony rose an eyebrow but stayed quiet, letting him decide if he wanted to continue; eventually, he spoke again. "I discovered I was adopted only recently and that my whole life has been a lie. I am the monster that Asgardians tell their children about. Odin stole me when I was a baby and claimed I was his."

"So that's what you meant when you said I was bonded to a monster." Tony dug into another blueberry compartment and pulled out two bags. He tossed one to Loki—the man deserved a whole bag of blueberries.

Loki caught the bag and stared down at it as though wondering why it was there. "It's what I am. I may look Asgardian, but I'm a Frost Giant."

"Don't suppose that means you could cool down this cage? Heat and me aren't the best of friends since I was kidnapped and held in the desert. I'll give you more blueberries if you can."

"Bribing me with berries, are you?" Loki asked even as the temperature noticeably cooled down and Tony relaxed muscles he hadn't realised were tense.

Tony grinned at Loki and tossed him another bag of blueberries from his stash. "If it works, it works."

He only had one bag of blueberries left by the time Loki's men arrived at the helicarrier to carry out his plan. Loki looked conflicted when the explosion went off. Tony could see his eyes flickering again, the blue encroaching further into the green.

Tony held up the remaining bag of blueberries and said, "Last one."

He grinned when Loki gave a long-suffering sigh—already Loki knew that Tony was an annoying but lovable pest to those he liked after only a few hours of being stuck together—and held out his hand to catch the bag, green overtaking the blue in his eyes once more as he did so.


	9. The Key to Picking Locks

Team: Wigtown Wanderers  
Position: Captain  
Prompt: A character learning something new about themselves.  
Ship (Team): Blaise Zabini/Harry Potter (Heroic Shadow)  
List (Prompt): Su Big (Lounge Chair)  
Word count: 1,815  
Warning: Racism

* * *

Harry hated his hair. He detested it with all his might and it apparently detested him right back. No matter what he or Aunt Petunia did to it, it remained as frizzy, wild, and uncontrollable as it had always been. Aunt Petunia already hated him because he messed up her perfect family—both by simply being there and with his dark skin—and the addition of his unruly hair was not welcome in the slightest.

There had been a week, he remembered, where Aunt Petunia would roughly grab his head every night and shave off every last bit of hair she could find, only for it to grow back by the time morning came. Now he knew that his hair had grown back because of accidental magic, but at the time he had been utterly confused and torn between awe and hatred for how fast his hair grew. He was convinced that the only reason Aunt Petunia had given up after a week was because she was afraid he'd make the link between his hair growing incredibly fast and him possessing magic.

He knew it _had_ to be possible to get his hair under control from the few glimpses he'd caught of other people like him before Aunt Petunia had hurried away, dragging him along and casting suspicious glances behind her. Most of the people he saw had really cool hairstyles that he wished he could convince his hair to do, but instead it just frizzed, broke, and did what _it_ wanted to do.

Harry wondered sometimes if the people he saw would help him if Aunt Petunia let him ask. He would never find out, he knew; Aunt Petunia hated Harry interacting with any other person, let alone those who shared his skin tone and that she lumped into the same category he lived in: scum she had to pretend to like when out in public. Maybe all of the people he saw had been taught by their parents; if that was the case, Harry wouldn't be getting those lessons because no way in hell would Aunt Petunia act as a mother to him.

He had thought, when first encountering Hermione on the Hogwarts Express, that maybe he'd be able to find someone who knew how to handle his hair while at Hogwarts. If there wasn't any natural way to deal with the mess that sat atop his head, maybe there was a magical way. He soon learned, however, that Hermione had just as much trouble with her hair as he did, and even the few tricks she used to make it manageable only seemed to make _his_ hair worse.

So now he sat in one of the various courtyards held within Hogwarts Castle, charmed sunlight shining down on him as he stared into the fountain that reflected his own face back at him. He had started out in Gryffindor Tower but the teasing of his fellow Gryffindors had eventually pushed him out of there and in search of a more secluded spot where he could try and wrangle his hair into a less messy style. While the bird's nest he called hair had apparently become his signature look, he thought it might be better to have something more controlled for the stupid Yule Ball he had to attend and be in the spotlight for.

He pulled his hairbrush roughly through his hair a few more times before checking the reflection and groaning in aggravation. Every time he brushed it, it just got worse! Wasn't brushing supposed to make hair _neater_? He was never going to figure this out. The Boy-Who-Lived, able to vanquish the Dark Lord Voldemort when he was a baby, defeated by his own hair.

"Sounds like you're having some trouble," a voice said, and Harry jumped, hairbrush ready to act as a wand as he located the speaker. The Black boy with a Slytherin scarf wrapped around his neck smiled in amusement and gestured to the improvised wand. "Want some help?"

Harry stared at him suspiciously. "Why would you help me?" he asked. "Your entire House hates me."

The boy shrugged and made his way over to Harry, plonking himself down onto the lounge chair next to Harry's own. "A House is just a House, it doesn't control everything. What's true for seven Slytherins might not be true for three. Besides, you seem rather low on allies nowadays, what with you being the Fourth Champion in the Triwizard Tournament."

"I didn't put my name in the Goblet," Harry automatically said, too used to people accusing him of doing just that.

"I don't particularly care whether you did or not. Blaise Zabini, at your service."

"Harry Potter."

Blaise smiled. "And here I thought you were Ronald Weasley. But the more important thing is: why are you destroying your hair?"

Harry stared at him blankly for a few moments. "What?"

"Your hair. Why are you destroying it?"

"I'm not destroying it!" Harry protested. "I'm _brushing_ it!"

Blaise was unimpressed. "Yes. And thus you are destroying it. Brushes are a curse for the type of hair we have, haven't you got a comb to use instead?"

"Is there a difference?" Harry asked and was given a sputtering Blaise Zabini in response.

"Is—is there a difference? _Is there a difference?_ Yes! Yes, there bloody well is a difference! You can't use a brush if you want to avoid _destroying_ your hair!" He stopped and took a breath, closing his eyes and seeming to calm himself down. Then he opened his eyes again and glared at Harry as he declared, "You will let me teach you and I will help you fix your hair."

Harry didn't think he had much of a choice in the matter. Besides, he'd always wanted to get lessons on how to make his hair look as good as Blaise's currently did with the top part curled neatly and proudly up with the sides shaved close to his head. "Okay."

"Good." Blaise nodded in satisfaction and then pulled two combs from a pocket. One had large gaps between the teeth and the other with the teeth closer together. He held up the one with gaps. "This is a detangling comb, it's one of the best things in the world." He held up the other. "This one is a pick comb and is mainly used for styling afros and variations. Learn them, love them, they will save your life."

From there it was an hour of Blaise running his fingers and the detangling comb through Harry's hair to reverse the damage Harry had caused with his usual hairbrush. There were also frequent wettings of Harry's hair—"Never comb your hair when it's dry." —and reshuffling of his hair's positioning as Blaise worked from section to section. Despite the multitude of muttered insults towards Harry's hair, Harry's lack of care with his hair, and even the comb itself, Harry found himself enjoying the time.

It wasn't painful like all the times Aunt Petunia had taken a brush to his hair or when he desperately tried to make the brush work like it was supposed to—something he now knew was an impossible task because the brush _was_ working like it was supposed to but his hair didn't want to take orders from a _brush_, it wanted a _comb_.

Among the insults, Blaise also filled him in on other care aspects Harry should do. Apparently Harry needed to moisturise his hair often because it was dry, he was to space out washes by at least five days but preferably a week, and he was definitely not allowed to scrub it dry with a towel _after_ washing.

When Blaise finally deemed Harry's hair to be combed to his satisfaction, Harry could only stare in awe at his reflection. It hadn't even been styled yet but already his hair looked to be meekly tamed by Blaise's competent hands. If this was what he could have been getting since his first year at Hogwarts, Harry almost wished he'd let the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin.

"You're amazing," he told Blaise, still staring at his hair in the fountain water.

Blaise smirked. "Glad you decided to trust a Slytherin, Harry Potter?"

Harry grinned back. "If it meant you'd teach me more, I'd _become_ a Slytherin."

"Well, as I doubt that would be allowed, you'll have to suffer remaining in Gryffindor. But I can give you this." Blaise took off his scarf and settled it loosely on Harry's shoulders. "I rather think green suits you, Harry."

Harry blushed a little and pulled the scarf tighter to his neck. While the courtyard was illuminated, it was currently winter and the enchantment didn't carry much heat, plus he'd gotten some water dripped on him while Blaise was working so the warmth from the scarf was appreciated.

"Thanks," he said, not entirely sure what, precisely, he was thanking Blaise for.

"Any time. Now, I can give you an afro similar to mine, though you'd have sides of course, or I can give you something else. Any preferences?"

Harry shrugged. "Not really. I wouldn't mind an afro."

Truth be told, that was the only hairstyle he knew the name of, though it was true that he wouldn't mind having a style like Blaise's. While he had seen plenty of interesting styles he'd wanted to recreate with his own hair, he had no idea what they were called. He'd been whisked away as soon as Aunt Petunia had seen a hint of dark skin that didn't belong to Harry, so there had been no time for asking what someone called their hairstyle. Blaise would probably know though, and there was no Aunt Petunia here to whisk him away from Blaise. Harry would ask him about hairstyle names later.

Blaise hummed and went to work with the picking comb, lifting bits of Harry's hair and patting them down again in a way that utterly baffled Harry but somehow had his hair behaving and taking on the form that Blaise wanted. Magic being real was nothing compared to the miracle Blaise was currently performing with Harry's stubborn and untameable hair. The untameable had become tamed.

"I expect to see you again, Harry," Blaise said as he worked. "I will not allow you to let your hair return to how it was before. I will be doing your hair until you have learned enough to care for it yourself."

Harry grinned. His hair being expertly wrangled _and_ spending more time with Blaise? Such an offer—order, really—was not one he'd ever want to turn down. Although he'd only known Blaise for a few hours and the other boy was in Slytherin, Harry enjoyed his presence immensely. He hadn't had such a relaxing afternoon since his name had come out of the Goblet of Fire, and even then he wasn't sure when he'd last enjoyed himself so much.

"As you wish."


	10. The Power of Sugar

Team: Wigtown Wanderers  
Position: Captain  
Prompt: Hermione Granger  
Word count: 2,074

* * *

Hermione was quietly freaking out as she made her way swiftly from the place that would normally be her sanctuary and was now a pit of confusion and anxiety. The library was the place she went to for answers, not questions, and now it seemed to be determined to aid the two people that sent her mind spiralling out of control more than any of the crazy adventures Harry had inevitably dragged her and Ron into. Philosopher's Stones, basilisks, Quidditch, not-so-mass murdering mass murderers, and a Tetrawizard Tournament were nothing compared to this.

She had to focus on somehow getting Harry through the stupid tournament alive and the presences in the library were not helping with that. Which, actually, could be some kind of devious plan they thought up knowing that she was helping Harry as much as possible and wanted to destroy that aid. Though why they'd be working together, Hermione didn't know. Plus, they didn't seem to be _actively_ doing much, beyond being in her line of sight or hearing distance all the time whenever she was in the library.

Finally, she deemed she was far enough away from the library to relax and sagged against the closest wall, clutching the three books she had managed to grab before escaping. Her heartbeat started slowing down as she breathed in and out, removing all thoughts of what her sanctuary had become and turning her focus back to helping Harry.

Someone sat down next to her and she couldn't help the slight jump she gave at the realisation that there was another person there. Cho Chang smiled at her and waved before looking out at the garden Hermione had stumbled into. She only knew Cho through polite nods and shared smiles as they passed each other in the corridors or library but she liked what she knew of the other girl. As the minutes ticked by without a word, Hermione found herself relaxing again and let Cho's presence fade into the background as she opened one of the books she'd borrowed.

Cho worked silently next to her on her own parchment scroll, nibbling on the sugar quill she held (and occasionally on her actual quill when she wasn't paying enough attention and mixed them up). Despite the occasional muttered complaints about feathers in her mouth or sugar getting on her parchment when Cho once more tried to write with her sugar quill, it was nice, peaceful. It was almost like being back in the library before all the confusion started. And then it was exactly like being in the library because along came one Cedric Diggory—chaos-bringer extraordinaire.

Hermione determinedly ignored his stupid smile and stared intently at the paragraph she had already read several times. She _definitely_ didn't see the smile dim or hear Cho sighing in exasperation next to her.

"Hermione," Cho said, sounding entirely too fed up for there not to be some kind of backstory, "this is my friend Cedric. He's an idiot who would like to be friends with you but who's too shy to ask you himself, so he recruited me to do the approach. Honestly, I'd advise you to get out while you can because he is deadly with those puppy dog eyes."

Friends? Recruitment? Hermione looked from Cho to Cedric, her book forgotten in her hands. Cho was sucking her sugar quill and alternating between giving Cedric a long-suffering look and grinning at Hermione while Cedric glared at Cho and fiddled with his tie as he looked at Hermione hopefully. One part of her brain was insisting that it was some kind of trap to get inside information on what Harry was doing while the other was yelling that it didn't make sense for that to happen considering Harry had already shown he was willing to share information by telling Cedric about the dragons for the First Task.

In the end, Cho was right; Cedric used his hopeful, pleading eyes expertly and Hermione found herself sighing and gesturing to the plant box opposite her for Cedric to take a seat.

"Nice to meet you, Cedric," she said and Cedric's replying grin was blinding.

"Hi, Hermione!" he said, scrambling to sit down where she had gestured.

Cho groaned and looked like she wanted to grab Hermione's book and hit Cedric with it. "You're being weird, Cedric. Just do your assignment, we're busy."

Cedric gave Cho a salute and pulled books and parchment out of his bag as he settled into a more comfortable position. Comfortable silence once more fell over the small indoors garden and Hermione relaxed again. She turned back to her book and was only drawn out again when a white thing interrupted her view.

"Want one?" Cho asked, waving the offered sugar quill.

"Yes," Cedric said.

Cho glanced at him, "Shut up, Cedric, I wasn't asking you. Do you even deserve sugar when you made me be your middleman because you were terrified of approaching Hermione yourself?"

Hermione let out a huff of laughter at their banter, it reminded her so much of the way the Weasley family teased each other in their chaotic and loving home. It was almost like being back at the Burrow as boys rushed up and down rickety steps, packing for the Quidditch World Cup and accusing their brothers of hiding this or that and then discovering they'd already packed it.

Still smiling, Hermione accepted the sugar quill. "Thanks, Cho."

"Anytime," Cho replied. She fetched another sugar quill from the packet and tossed it to Cedric before grabbing another for herself. "Especially if you'll help me deal with this idiot in the future."

Hermione gave Cedric a considering look, brushing the end of the sugar quill over her chin as she normally did when thinking with a regular quill in her hand. She held out her hand to Cho for a handshake, "Deal."

That seemed to be it and the three of them settled down to work on their own things after that. Short bursts of conversation popped up occasionally, generally started by one of them asking a question to their work out loud and the others chipping in to answer, but otherwise it was merely a group of three individuals working together but separately. It was the most productive studying Hermione had been able to do for weeks.

The very next day, Hermione went to the library to return the books she'd borrowed and seek out more that might be able to help Harry. There was still the miasma of confusion hovering over the library shelves, but it was cleansed a little by Cho's welcoming smile and wave. Cedric, sitting next to Cho, looked up from his book and also waved, smiling just as brightly as Cho. Hermione found herself returning the waves and made her way to their table when she had an armful of books.

"Mind if I join you guys?" she asked, gesturing to the table with her load.

"Not at all." Cho grinned slyly. "In fact, I think you'd make Cedric's year if you did."

Cedric flushed red and ducked his head but didn't dispute the statement. Cho cackled and offered Hermione a sugar quill as she sat down. Hermione's parents would probably not be too impressed with the amount of sugar quills Cho had herself or handed to Hermione and Cedric to have but when studying for the purpose of keeping one's best friend alive, sugar was required. Hermione smiled at Cho in thanks, stuck the quill in her mouth and then opened the first book in front of her, ready to work. Which was, of course, when another stack of books landed next to hers and Viktor Krum—Bulgarian Seeker and the second presence in the library Hermione avoided—sat down at the table.

"Hey Viktor," Cho greeted, offering a sugar quill.

Viktor took it with a quiet thanks and did the exact same thing Hermione had done: stuck the sugar quill in his mouth and opened the first book on his stack. Hermione stared at the page in front of her and tried not to panic. Everything was fine. She was only sitting at the same table as the two boys who had inadvertently chased her out of the library. No reason to panic. She'd just do her work and then leave. Everything would be fine.

Everything was not fine. Hermione had spent hours in the library with Cedric, Cho, and Viktor and enjoyed it far too much to be fine. She liked them all and if it wasn't for the Triwizard Tournament she'd have no qualms about spending time with any of them. Even with the tournament, if it wasn't the topic of conversation or study, Hermione wouldn't care that she was studying with two Champions.

The tournament just brought with it a niggling doubt that maybe these two perfectly nice and honest people were actually just using her for her brain and weren't interested in being friends with her. It was similar to the time she had thought she was finally making friends in school only to lose them all once the SATs had passed. Were Cho, Cedric, and Viktor genuine in their friendships? Hermione could believe in Cho easier than the other two but was also aware that Cho was best friends with Cedric and probably wanted him to win the tournament. Cedric and Viktor were harder to evaluate.

Hermione burst through the portrait hole and sighed in relief when she saw Harry sitting in front of the fire in the common room. She needed another opinion and Ron would explode first, be rational later and Hemione couldn't deal with that right now. Harry was curled up on the couch and not paying attention to the Transfiguration homework in front of him as he stared into the fire, hopefully he'd be able to help.

"Harry," Hermione started, and Harry looked up at her.

"Hey, Hermione."

"Harry, I need your help."

Harry sat up instantly, removing the abandoned homework next to him and patting the couch cushion. "What's wrong? Did Malfoy do something? Or Skeeter?"

"No, it's not them." Hermione sat down and pulled a small cushion to her chest, fiddling with the tassels it had. "I've been studying with Cedric and Viktor. And Cho."

"Okay. Did _they_ do something?"

Hermione let out a breath and shook her head. "No, and that's just it. I don't know if they're planning on doing something or if they just want to be friends. I don't know if they plan on using me to learn what you know of the Tasks and how you plan on getting through them."

"Have they talked about strategies for the tournament?" Harry asked.

"Not really," Hermione admitted. "We don't talk a whole lot, just study and sometimes help each other if we're struggling. It's nice. Better than studying with you and Ron."

Harry laughed as she nudged him with her elbow. "You love us anyway," he said. "And it sounds like a normal study group. I like Cho and Cedric, and from what I know about Krum, he's okay too. I don't think they'd befriend you just to get to me."

Hermione nodded, thinking about the interactions she'd had with her new study companions. Even when Cedric and Viktor had driven her out of the library, it had been Hermione who had driven herself out with nerves and anxiety. All three of them had been perfectly friendly and Hermione found that if she lost that now, she'd miss it despite only having it for a few days.

"Thanks, Harry."

"Least I could do," he responded, and grinned at her.

Hermione felt in her pocket and pulled out the extra sugar quill Cho had given her before they all split up and went their separate ways. She offered it to Harry, "Need some brain power?"

"Hermione," Harry said seriously as he accepted the sugar quill, "you are the best."

"Thank Cho, she's the one that gave it to me."

"Do you think I could?" Harry asked, a slight blush on his cheeks.

Hermione grinned in exactly the same way Cho had when Cedric had pleaded with her to act as middleman—though of course, she didn't know that. "Definitely. Why don't you come with me to the library tomorrow so you can thank her? She'll probably even give you another one if you bring your homework and join us."

Harry smiled and nodded. "You're the best, Hermione," he repeated.

"I know."


End file.
